Nicholas Barlow, an erudite, successful book publisher, dislikes editor Parker Foxcroft--an arrogant, ruthless womanizer and literary snob, but whose authors bring in prestige and literary prizes--until somebody kills him and Barlow has to do something besides applaud silently.
Just goes to prove you shouldn't judge a book by its cover--which is quite striking, but the book itself is a buptke. I bought this when it came out, and it sat on the shelf for a dozen years or so. Then last week I finally got around to it. "Final Edit" is an easy read, but a very poor mystery--one of the weakest I've read in a long time. The hero is a book publisher who likes to bloviate in the first person about his likes and dislikes, and he sort of has an interest in playing sleuth--especially when his star editor (a much-hated fellow, don't you know) is offed, but the real armchair detective is the hero's brother, who is confined to a wheelchair and has only a couple of minor scenes--shades of Nero Wolf (but he's not fat--just lost the use of his legs in a accident many moons ago). When our hero's new girlfriend is killed, it barely rates a "gee whiz, that's a tough break" from the guy; but when his ex-wife suggests they attempt to solve the mystery by treating it as they did a "murder cruise" several years back he can hardly hold back his enthusiasm--even though the exercise proves absolutely pointless. When his brother comes up with the solution going through some computer files, we have to wait for the publisher/hero to gather all the suspects in his office while the disgruntled cops look on. Finally the murderer is revealed--but, anyone paying even modest attention figured out who done it when the character first showed up. A waste of trees and time.